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We've erased a lot of the distinctions between night and day, between weekday and weekend. Our notions of time and space are collapsing.

Three o'clock is always too late or too early for anything you want to do. An odd moment in the afternoon.

There are yawning gulfs into which large chunks of me have fallen. I do not always know where I am at present.

The years are too short, the days are too long.

The two prime movers in the universe are time and luck.

So the chill hours wear on, and the long suspense is horribly trying to the paleface who has to live through it for the first time; but to the trained hand those ghastly calls and still ghastlier silences are but an intimation of the night marching.

Man can neither make, nor retain, one moment of time; it all comes to him by pure gift; he might as well regard the sun and moon as his chattels.

It has often been observed, that those who have the most time at their disposal profit by it the least. A single hour a day, steadily given to the study of some interesting subject, brings unexpected accumulations of knowledge.

I confess, I do not believe in time.

How did it get so late so soon? / Its night before its afternoon. / December is here before its June. / My goodness how the time has flewn. / How did it get so late so soon?